


I hope the sun goes down quickly (I hope the moon doesn't rise)

by din0nara



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Don't worry though, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, kim mingyu is not as clueless as he seems, lee chan has seen too much, moms are very important to the story, seventeen are very nice and good boys, verkwan tag is so sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/din0nara/pseuds/din0nara
Summary: Hansol is a formerly home schooled student radio DJ who's still adjusting to college life. Seungkwan is desperately trying to distract himself from what happened at the end of last semester. They could both use someone to talk to, and maybe a hand to hold.(indefinite hiatus due to author dumb)
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	I hope the sun goes down quickly (I hope the moon doesn't rise)

Seungkwan misses home.

Thinking of Jeju is his siren’s song, simultaneously comforting and painful. It keeps him going when he’s tired, but keeps him up at night when he’s trying to sleep in the rigid dorm bed. He’d managed to avoid homesickness all the way up until winter break; first semester he’d been so caught up in adjusting to university life, new classes, and his tall, toothy transfer roommate. There was no time to think about anything else but adjusting, and homesickness would only set in briefly during phone calls with his mom and sisters, quick to dissipate.

Celebrating Seollal made him nostalgic, as it always does. He loves seeing his family all together and happy, wearing bright colors and eating his mother’s food. He likes how his neighbors all greet him when he comes home, waving from their front step to tell him how proud they are of him for going all the way to Seoul for school. Jeju's son comes home. The mini fridge in his dorm is full to bursting with food his relatives and neighbors insisted on sending back with him. He knew Seoulites were cold people, but the warmth of his hometown makes them look downright hostile. 

Now that he’s back at school, he’s thrown himself into work. He wakes up early and studies late into the night. In his free time he seeks company to distract himself, tailing his roommate to his friends’ dorms, unwilling to be alone. Mingyu and Seokmin are loud and full of life, the closest thing to the liveliness of home he can find this far north, but thinking so makes his heart ache. 

Late at night, after Mingyu has started snoring, he’ll put on his headphones and open the window a crack to let the breeze air out their small room. His parents used to play music on their little radio when they cleaned the house or cooked dinner, always with the windows open. The college radio station is advanced enough that it plays on its website, not just on a physical radio, but it’s close enough. The university radio station feels like his little secret; college radio isn’t as popular as it once was, and he never hears anybody call in, and late at night there’s no guests like there might be during the day. It’s just music, and occasionally the DJ talking. 

Each DJ has their own taste, ranging from bland to really out-there, but this one kid has it down to a science. Every wednesday night, a mellow mix of hip hop, r&b and indie. Both english and korean, often songs with a mix of both. It’s rarely anything he would pick himself to listen to, but somehow it suits the time of night perfectly enough that it all sounds good. 

The DJ doesn’t speak often other than introducing himself at the beginning of his shift and signing off at the end. He mostly lets one song flow to the next without interjection unless it’s to share some silly anecdote about the song, or to crack a little joke. He sounds comfortable, but he’s always alone. He laughs into a hot mic, stutters sometimes but always recovers. His voice is low and soft, just as good as the music he plays. Maybe better.

He holds that hour every week close to his heart, he makes a ritual out of turning off the lights and opening the window, sometimes flickering the lighter he carries with him just to feel the heat and see the spark and the afterimage of it behind his eyelids. He doesn’t smoke; it was his dad’s lighter. He gave it to him months ago to help him quit smoking, he clearly trusted Seungkwan enough to not misuse it. He said he didn’t want the house to smell like smoke when he came home from school. 

The DJ’s voice comes to him sometimes, when he’s stressed or tired. Before he falls asleep, he hears him signing off, saying “Have a good night, sleep well.” The DJ’s name is Vernon. He’s never met anyone with a name like that before, and it’s clearly not korean, so he assumes it’s like a stage name, to keep his anonymity. Or maybe just to look cool. 

It’s wednesday now, a little before 9. The 8 o’clock DJ is finishing up with his set in his headphones as Seungkwan opens the window, lights a candle that he has to hide during room inspection. It’s february, probably way too chilly to have it open, but he’s bundled up in a hoodie and sweatpants and fuzzy socks, and when his hands get cold he flicks the lighter under his palms. Mingyu is at work, so he won’t complain for once.

The song fades out and the mic crackles a bit, announcing the switch. Seungkwan settles back in his pillows and closes his eyes. 

“Hi. Welcome back to Vernon’s vibe check. I hope you enjoy.” His voice comes softly murmuring in his ears, followed by the guitar riff and rapping of a new song he hasn’t played yet. Seungkwan closes his eyes.

✦ ✦ ✦

“How was your winter break, Hansol?” 

The studio takes on a different feeling at night. The large windows that let in plenty of sunlight during the day are just long stripes of dark sky this late. They always turn off the lights in the studio at night, so the only light comes from the bright multicolored buttons and numbers of the soundboard, and the glowing of Hansol’s laptop screen and Jihoon’s phone.

“You know, the usual. Seollal’s whatever,” he replies. He and his mom and sister feeling slightly strange in hanbok. Visiting his grandmother and cousins, trying to remember to speak korean with his father and sister. Worrying about his mom feeling left out. At least the food is good. Jihoon doesn’t seem like he thinks Seollal is _whatever_ , but he doesn’t push, just jerks his head towards the soundboard, indicating that it’s time to go back to music talk. 

“I like this song,” he says. The Childish Gambino song he picked out is playing, now that it’s past 9 he can play anything really. He doubts there’s anyone that would call and complain about the english profanity. “What’s it about?”

Sometimes Jihoon, or Woozi as he goes by on radio and on spotify, likes to quiz him like this. Music production major things, he thinks, he is his sunbae in the department after all. Or maybe he’s just making conversation like a normal person, he really wouldn’t know. 

He takes a second to gather his thought, fiddling with the knobs on the board and adding a few more songs to the queue. “I think it’s about trying to consider the future, while still trying to live in the present,” he decides on. Like he’s writing an essay or answering a question in class. Jihoon has that effect sometimes.

They’re quiet in the booth. They give each other the kind of company that you don’t need to fill up with talk, Hansol thinks. It’s something they both appreciate. After a while, Jihoon takes out his laptop again and starts writing, maybe a paper for class, maybe lyrics. Hansol arranges songs in an order that will flow well in the playlist. Coming up with an hour’s worth of music every week, stuff that’s engaging but not overplayed, something new every time, isn’t easy, but he makes it a priority. Every so often he or Jihoon will make a comment about the song, which will eventually dissolve with a nod into the semi-silence of keys clicking and radio again, but it’s not awkward. Hansol really values that he doesn’t have to try to keep up conversation when they’re hanging out. Most of the time he prefers to just sit back and vibe with people. The friends he’s made at school are great, his roommate Chan and his dance major friends are chill and always happy to invite him along to wherever they’re going, and don’t take it personally if he would rather stay in his room. He’s just still adjusting to there being so many people around all the time, is all. When he went home for break he kind of forgot what that was like.

“Oh yeah, I meant to tell you,” says Jihoon, his fingers pausing their incessant typing. “My friends want you to hang out with us sometime, they think you’re cool.” 

“Oh, uh,” he says, very eloquently. “Why do they think that?” Jihoon’s friends, from what he knows, are all older than him and relatively popular on campus. He’s met a few of them in passing, sometimes they’ll stop by the booth when he’s in there with Jihoon, but he didn’t think he spoke with them enough for them to really think anything about him. 

“Because I told them so, for starters.” He takes out his phone and squints at an incoming message like it’s insulting him. From what he can see, about three quarters of the message is emojis. “Also, ‘sometime’ apparently means _tonight_. They’re all at my house and are telling me to come by after the set and bring you.” 

He should probably be jumping at the chance to hang out with Jihoon’s cooler upperclassman friends. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he already had plans for the night, involving his leftover takeout and a facetime call with his parents. He hesitates. Jihoon must be able to tell, because he says “It’s fine if you don’t want to, there’s no pressure,” which is nice of him, but something in the back of his mind is saying, _If you turn him down, what did you even go to college for?_

“Yeah, I’ll come with if you don’t mind,” he decides. “Why not.” Jihoon cracks a smile, responding to the text with lightning-fast thumbs. 

“Cool.”

When his hour is done, they pack up their stuff and hand off the keys to the studio to the 10 o’clock DJ. The walk from the communications building to wherever Jihoon is taking him is brisk, they walk quickly to keep out of the wind, jackets pulled tight and hoods up. Hansol adjusts his beanie to fit tighter over his ears. It’s cold but clear, and the sidewalks are mostly deserted. 

Jihoon’s place, apparently, is one of the older houses on the main road, slightly south of the main campus. He’s known Jihoon for a few months now, but has never been here, oddly enough. It has a friendly look to it, the red brick and front porch a contrast to the frost on the grass in front. Several of the windows are glowing to match the streetlamps, not just in this house but the other ones along the street, probably all inhabited by students. When they climb the front porch and Jihoon starts wrestling with the key in the lock, he can hear raised voices from inside, laughing. Suddenly, the key is wrenched out of Jihoon’s hand when the door is opened from the inside. 

“Oh good, you brought vibe check boy,” says the guy who opened the door. He’s got hair that goes just past his chin, and he’s holding a pile of cash in the hand that isn’t on the door knob. “I keep telling you you have to push it up. The lock is getting old.” Jihoon scowls, pulling the key free. 

“Jeonghan, this is Hansol. What’s with the money?” Jihoon says, pushing past the long hair guy and beckoning Hansol inside.

“I thought the pizza guy was knocking, you know the doorbell stopped working,” Jeonghan says, waving off Hansol’s polite bow.

It turns out Jihoon lives there with five other guys, three seniors and three juniors, counting Jihoon. Seungcheol, who shakes his hand firmly like he’s conducting a job interview before going back to the xbox, Jeonghan the long hair guy, Joshua, who greets him in english. Wonwoo tells him he likes his radio hour. Soonyoung, he’s already met; he’s one of the dance major guys Chan hangs around. 

Hanging out with them is easy, even if it’s not quiet like it is with just Jihoon. He’s not much into gaming, but he finds he likes watching Seungcheol and Wonwoo trying to coach Soonyoung through GTA, which he fails at more spectacularly the harder he tries. About fifteen minutes after they arrive, the pizza guy shows up with a stack of pizza boxes, and then the pizza guy comes inside, sits on the rug by Jeonghan, and starts eating some of the pizza.

“That’s Mingyu,” says Jihoon by way of explanation. “He’s a sophomore too. Mingyu, this is Hansol, he does Vernon’s vibe check.”

“Oh yeah?” Says Mingyu, turning to look at him. He’s tall and broad, with a beaming smile, and has a look about him like an excitable puppy. Hansol can see why a group of upperclassman guys allowed the pizza guy to come and hang out with them; he has great reactions to Soonyoung’s GTA stunts and he keeps the paper plates stacked neatly. “My roommate listens to you.”

“For real?” It’s news to him. He wasn’t sure anyone actually listened to his radio hour aside from his sister, the other DJs, and the people in this room. 

“Haha, yeah,” Mingyu laughs. “He’s actually really into it, which is weird sense you don’t look like the kind of guy who plays what he usually listens to.” He grins kind of dopily.

“Are you stoned, dude?” He looks like he’s high, and he’s eaten half a pizza in about 5 minutes.

“No way man, I was working. I’m responsible,” He says earnestly. 

At this moment, his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket, and he excuses himself to take the call, sitting on the carpeted stairs.

“Hey mom, sorry I forgot we were going to facetime.”

“No worries, kiddo. What are you up to?” Hansol’s mom’s voice comes over the phone, instantly comforting him. Maybe most college guys wouldn’t make commitments to call their moms, but he feels he owes it to her. And it’s always nice to hear her voice. 

“I’m actually at my friend’s place, Jihoon invited me over after the set.” He’s actually worried what she’ll think of this. It’s late after all, and a week night, and she knows he has classes in the morning. 

“Hey, that’s nice. It’s good you’re getting out there. Stimulating your brain, you know. Other than how you normally do.”

He ignores the tease and lets her words sink in. He’s relieved to hear her say it. 

“Well, honey, I just wanted to check in on you. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing okay, Mom. The guys are nice.” On cue, Wonwoo shoves Soonyoung off the couch and grabs for the controller.

“Oh, look at you. _The guys._ ” She laughs into the phone. “Sorry, I’m just glad you’re having fun.” 

He grins. “Yeah, the guys. Look, tell dad I said hey.”

“I will, he’s working late. Hey, I’m proud of you kid.” 

“Thanks mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hansol. Sleep well.”

“Night, mom.” He hangs up with a click. 

He pads back into the room and takes his place on the rug next to Mingyu. “Was that your mom?” Joshua asks him. 

Hansol stiffens, bracing for a dig, but says, “Yeah, I was supposed to facetime her once the set was done.”

“It’s nice that you call with her. My mom’s back in the states, so I don’t get to talk with her that much.” He says. “How do you manage it?” 

“Oh,” he says, suddenly getting it. “My parents live in Hongdae.” 

He sees the understanding dawn on his face. “Oh shit man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed, I should know better. I came here from the states for school, I guess I got excited thinking you did too. My bad, really.” He looks guilty, and Hansol is quick to wave it off.

“Nah, it’s really okay. I get it all the time, don’t worry.”

Later that night, after all the pizza is gone and they’ve gone from GTA to smash and back to GTA again, Mingyu walks back with him to his dorm, sense they live in nearby buildings. Hansol has to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides, and he’s pretty tall himself. 

“Hey, my roommate would kick my ass if he knew that I met you and didn’t ask you. Do you think I could introduce you guys?” Mingyu’s teeth flash when he talks, it’s kind of distracting. “Between you and me, he could use some more friends.” He backtracks quickly. “Oh, he’s not weird or anything, you’ll like him, everyone does. He’s just kind of a shut in lately, I guess.”

Hansol can feel himself ready to turn him down. But he looks back on the night, on how Jihoon’s friends welcomed him, how his mom sounded so happy on the phone to hear he was with other people. Maybe he could use some friends as well.

“Yeah, that’s cool. You can bring him around next wednesday night at the studio if you’re not working.”

“Oh, sure! I usually don’t work so late, it should be fine.” Mingyu beams. Hansol is amazed someone can look that happy by doing something for their friend. He feels compelled to pat him on the head, before he remembers that he’s older.

✦ ✦ ✦

Seungkwan can’t believe Mingyu did what he did. 

He can’t wrap his head around what he did. It was good of him, yeah, to consider him like that. But what must Vernon think of him. It makes him look like a loser, having his roommate set up play dates for him. Even worse, it makes him look sad. Vernon probably only agreed because he pitied him, who knows what Mingyu told him to convince him. 

Seungkwan is so sick of being pitied for what happened.

He’s so anxious, just stewing in his desk, that the girl next to him looks at him pointedly; he’s been rapping his pen against the side of the desk. He bows his head awkwardly to her, scribbles some of the notes from the board without really processing what he’s writing, and then sits his chin in his palm to think some more. 

Mingyu came back to the dorm the night before bouncing in excitement, shaking Seungkwan awake to tell him that he met Vernon, that he was a sophomore like him, even better that he’d set up a meeting for them. He looked at Seungkwan like he was expecting praise, but all he got was a furious “What the _fuck,_ Kim Mingyu.”

“You’re not happy?” He’d said, his big smile flickering. 

“I don’t need you to do anything for me. I’m clearly doing just fine, I don’t need your help.” He felt a twinge of pain seeing the hurt and confusion on Mingyu’s face, but his temper kept overflowing. 

“Seungkwan, I thought you’d be happy about it, I know how much you like his radio thing. I thought I was doing something nice for you.” Mingyu’s normally sunny face hardened, his eyes casting about for something to look at other than Seungkwan. 

“Would you have done this for me before what happened?” He says icily. Mingyu looks down, avoiding his eyes. “You wouldn’t have. You’d tell me you met him and you’d let me seek him out on my own. _If I wanted to._ How do you know I even wanted to meet him, huh?” His voice is getting louder, and Mingyu seems to be getting smaller. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. 

Seungkwan shook his head, turning his back on him and pulling the covers back over his shoulders. “Just go to sleep, Mingyu,” he’d said. 

In the middle of the lecture hall, he rubs his eyes tiredly. He hadn’t been able to get much sleep after that, the peaceful slumber Vernon’s radio show usually helped him get to was long gone. Sleeping in the same room as someone who’s clearly very upset is near impossible. When he saw Mingyu that morning, he’d had deep circles under his eyes that really didn’t suit him, but he’d just shoved him off and headed to class without breakfast. Seungkwan had matching circles. He’d spent most of the night with his face muffled in the pillow, fighting the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone. 

In his pocket, his phone vibrated gently. He pulled it out cautiously, looking at the screen under the table, shielding it from view with his notebook. 

**Gyu hyung:** Seungkwannie, I’m sorry

 **Gyu hyung:** I should have known I should let you do it your way

 **Gyu hyung:** I know you don’t need my help in doing things, I just wanted to make you happy

 **Gyu hyung:** I’m really really sorry, let’s not fight

The pit in his stomach grew with guilt. He stared blankly at the waiting messages, unsure what to do with them. 

“Boo Seungkwan-ssi.” Came a booming voice from the front of the lecture hall. All eyes turned to him. Seungkwan started and dropped his phone in his lap.

“If you’re not going to pay attention, don’t come to class. I expect better from you.” His lecturer peered at him through her glasses, her tone was harsh but her expression was somber. He bowed his head and apologized, and she resumed the lecture, but he could feel the eyes on him. 

It’s hard enough that his friends know what happened. It’s worse that most of the student body knows as well. 

He spends the rest of the period taking every note the professor put up, without really reading any of it, and reluctantly thinking about Vernon. What was he like? He seemed cool, from the music he played and the way he sounded on radio. How did he look? Was he tall, short, broad, thin? Would he think Seungkwan was okay? Would he know already about what happened? Fuck.

At the end of class, he went to go apologize properly to his professor. She said she wasn’t angry, just disappointed, but she knew he could do well. He thanked her for accommodating for him, and promised to be more attentive. 

When she dismissed him, he headed up to the terrace of the building, which was a popular spot for students in the spring and early fall, but was deserted now. So high up, the wind bit into his skin, but he pulled his sweater tighter around him and tugged his sleeves over his palms. He pulled out his phone, and dialed. 

“Seungkwannie, done with class?” His mom’s sweet voice immediately soothes him, but he feels tears prick at his eyes, stinging in the cold air. 

“Yeah, eomma,” he chokes.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs deeply. 

He drops to a crouch, huddling in his jacket, wishing he could hug her. Tears slipped down his cheeks, the wind tousled his hair. He hears her sigh again through the phone, full of grief.

He scrubs his face before bringing the phone back to his ear. From here he can see the small old dorm building where his father died, where he sat on the curb and waited for the EMTs to tell him what was going on. 

“It’s just so hard to be here.” His voice is low, muffled by the tightness in his throat. “I want to come home, I want to see you.”

“I know it’s hard, I miss you too. You told me you were doing well though, did something happen?” 

He wipes his nose on his sleeve frantically like a kid. “Mingyu tried to do something nice for me, but I just feel like he pities me. Everyone treats me differently after what happened, I can’t hide from it.”

“Honey, I understand. But most people your age don’t know what that kind of grief is like. How can he know how to help you. You and I both know theres really nothing he could say or do to make it better, but he’s trying the only way he knows how, right?” Her voice is so soft and warm. His chest aches for it. 

“You’re right, there’s nothing… ugh, poor Mingyu.” 

“Talk with him, okay? He can’t really understand, but he wants to help you. He has a good heart.”

“He does,” he sighs. “I’ll talk to him. I love you, I hope you’re doing okay.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Seungkwannie. Everyone is taking good care of me,” she hums. He sees the front she’s putting up, acknowledges it, files it away for later. Seungkwan’s mother is a strong lady. “Your appa was so proud of you, okay? I want you to remember that.”

One last tear falls to the concrete, making a small dark circle between his feet. They exchange goodbyes, and he takes a deep, wracking breath before he hits Mingyu’s contact. The older boy picks up immediately.

“Seungkwan?”

“Can we meet at the dining hall? I’m hungry,” is all he says. 

Before he heads across campus to the dining hall, he stops in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face to lesson the redness, but his eyes remain puffy from the lack of sleep. When they meet, Mingyu doesn’t say anything until they’ve both gotten food and sat down, just follows him with his head bowed and his hands clasped like a child sent to the principle’s office.

“I didn’t say anything about your dad,” he says when they’re seated at a table. “I said I thought you could use a friend, but I see now that that’s not my call to make. I’m really sorry, Seungkwannie.” He’s so clearly deflated that it makes him cringe with guilt. 

“You were right, I do need a friend. I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he says, and Mingyu visibly brightens. “I’m still me though, you know. I don’t want anyone to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“How could I think that, after what you saw? You’re the toughest person I know.” He shoves seemingly an entire sausage in his mouth. “I told him you were cool, I really think you’ll like him.”

“Yeah?” Seungkwan isn’t really sure what to expect from him. 

“Yeah, he called him mom when we were hanging out last night and he talked to her all sweet. I know thats important to you,” He grins. “He dresses kinda weird, but he’s handsome for sure. Definitely not a deal breaker.”

Seungkwan stops with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Why are you talking like it’s a blind date.” 

“I mean,” he smirks. “I don’t know your type, but he really is good looking.”

He throws a croissant at him across the table. “I just forgave you,” he warns. “Don’t push it, Kim Mingyu.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed so far :)  
> I wanted to add that seungkwan's dad's death isn't just for plot, or intended to be used as a cheap backstory. In this fic I wanted to explore what it's like to try to keep acting normally after trauma, and how that can effect relationships. Without too much detail, seungkwan's experiences are heavily based off of my own.  
> Anyway, thank you for your support on my mission to add to the verkwan tag, please give this fic a lot of love!! <3


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